


Survival

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Series: Survival Instincts [1]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dehydration, Frottage, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non Consensual, Sexual Coercion, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randall will do anything to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Dave's song is from Spongebob.

After a few weeks, the scratching noise was almost soothing. Bit like raindrops on the window. Or a roach skittering across the floor. A roach would be good right about now. The occasional moan broke the monotony. If Randall just looked up, he'd see the strobing light marking out each rise of the hand to scratch at the wood through the crack under the door. Unless it was night again. Then he'd just see darkness. 

But the scratching noise--that was always there. 

Randall didn't have the strength to lift his head to look up at the door to check the time of day. It didn't matter. He didn't know what day it was, what month. He could have been here a day or a year. The food, what little was stored in their tiny root cellar, was gone. Every drop of liquid was drained from the preserves. Not even the spiders crawled over him anymore. His stomach had stopped growling some time before. He couldn't even piss out enough to wet his swollen tongue. 

A raspy moan turned into a breathy hiss, and the scratching changed into a scramble of wet, rotted limbs on the floor. Louder bangs echoed off the floor like thunder. Is it raining again? 

Lightning flashed in his eyes, blinding him as it built up into a wavery laser burning his skin. He opened his mouth, hoping to feel a raindrop on his tongue. "Plea--" he croaked, unable to make a full word. He just wanted it so bad. Just a drop. 

"Holy shit, he's alive?"

********

Dave pushed Tony's arm down to get a better look. The kid was dirty, scrawny, but unlike most of the lamebrains he didn't have blood all over him. He smelled awful, but it was a strong human smell, a familiar comfort after the stench of rot. He and Tony weren't doing much better. 

They'd seen the farmhouse from the road. Abandoned, but it didn't look plucked yet. Dave had stomped the lamebrain at the basement door as it hissed and snarled up at him. It really wanted whatever was in the basement. Tony had spotted the body first, but then the thing moved, spoke, or at least seemed to. Better safe than sorry. 

"Hey. You alive? Say something else, or my buddy here will put you out of your misery." He was about to give up, let Tony shoot him, when the kid lifted his head and coughed weakly. Blurry brown eyes blinked up at them, but they were clear, not milky at all. 

"Alive. Please. Alive." 

"You bit?" Tony asked. The kid dropped his head to the dirt floor, seeming to have used up his strength. 

Dave patted Tony on the shoulder. "Let's get him in the light, see for ourselves." 

Together they each grabbed a skinny arm and dragged the boy up the stairs, keeping his head from hitting the splintered wooden steps. There was a threadbare couch not too far from the kitchen door, perfect for depositing the unconscious kid. Dave wheezed out a sigh of relief as he dropped into the dusty but comfortable recliner opposite the couch. 

"I gotta stop smoking." 

Tony scoffed, knowing they hadn't seen a pack of cigs since entering the backwater state. He stalked off back into the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. 

Dave kept an eye and an ear out, but mostly, he watched the kid. There'd only been a few pictures in the hall, showing a slightly less scruffy version of the kid and a nice looking older broad. Probably the deadhead he'd stomped. Likely there weren't anymore in the house. The lamebrain wouldn't have been so intent on the basement if there was other game around, and they didn't seem the type to have visitors. If something did shamble down the stairs, he'd hear it. Every step echoed in the empty house. 

Tony stomped into the living room, tossing a bag of chips and a soda at Dave's head. Fat bastard was lucky he caught them. "No one's plucked the kitchen yet. Fridge is disgusting. Looks like the kid didn't even stock up before hiding downstairs." Tony settled on the end of the couch next to the kid's head, setting a hand on his forehead before cracking open his own can. "No fever."

"No shit. He was down there for days. If he was bit, he'd've already turned."

Tony flipped him off while chugging the soda. Dave was a bit more conservative, sipping his own drink. It was some generic grape shit, but the sweet burst of carbonation burned the taste of the dead from his mouth. If the pump out back still worked, he'd treat himself to a big bucketful later. For now, it was just safer to stick with whatever was sealed away from contamination or rot. Thank fuck for preservatives. 

Tony finished the can with a belch, crunched it in his palm and tossed it behind the couch. He stood, settling the rifle on his shoulder. "I'm gonna go see if anyone died on the beds. Yell if he tries to eat you." Tony snagged another soda before heading up the stairs. 

He was an asshole, and he looked like he didn't give a shit, but Tony was good guy. Deadly accurate when he wanted to be, and fast. They'd survived this long. He could be with someone worse. 

Dave tore open the bag and dug out a handful of thick chips. The fake cheese powder coated his hand as he shoved the sharp little bits into his mouth. 

*********

The splinter of bones woke him. It was loud, blocking the scratching noise. Randall flexed his fingers, expecting pain, expecting the noise to mean that it was over. He could see red. Everything was red. Then there was a slurp. Vampires drinking blood. 

Vampires? Now that was just silly. 

Randall moaned deep in his throat, a rumble of noise raking over his throat and tearing his lips. 

"You awake, kid?" 

Randall tried opening his eyes, but the red became burning white, fire! He jerked, like his body kicked out of a falling dream. 

"Woah, calm down." Hands. Hands were grabbing him, digging into skin. Gouging. Biting. Biting!

A strangled scream died on his lips as he was held down. He struggled, but his strength left quickly, leaving him with blurry eyes and shaking limbs. Randall blinked a few times, every movement of his lids like a scrape of a knife across his eyes. The gold-speckled ceiling of his living room pieced together like broken glass; the picture was distorted, but recognizable. A constellation of water spots coalesced. He knew them. He knew this. 

A stranger's face swayed over him. Sweet, grape-scented breath brushed over his cheeks. There was noise, but it took him a while to figure out it was words. 

"--thirsty? You look like shit."

Randall nodded, whining, opening his mouth to try to respond. He felt cool, smooth metal against his lip, then bubbling fire burst over his mouth. It hurt. It hurt so much, but he swallowed, coughed, breathed in the liquid. Sharp slaps on his back, bubbles out his nose. 

"Slow!" The metal was at his mouth again, tipping just the slightest dribble into his mouth. This time he let it sizzle on his tongue, popping and filling his mouth with sweetness. It started to feel good, and he let it trickle down his throat, spreading thickly like cough syrup over his throat. 

"Good boy."

The little bit of soda settled warmly in his stomach, spreading out like a sponge soaking up water. He hummed, whimpered, stretched out his neck as he begged with open mouth for more. He gulped the next with a deep swallow, and when it wasn't taken from him again, he reached out and wrapped his hands around the can. It tipped over his mouth, spilling out down his face as he swallowed again and again. 

******

The kid was making a sticky mess of himself, but Dave figured it couldn't make a difference. His shirt hung loose around his chest, falling off his shoulder to display his skinny neck. Bits of pale purple liquid created trails in the dirt before soaking into the frayed collar. Dave fetched a second soda from the nearby kitchen, cracking it open and surrendering it to his greedy hands. 

When it looked like the kid was just going to dump it over his head, Dave reached out again to steady the can. "Careful!" The soda bubbled over thickly as it was righted, foaming wetly over their entwined fingers. 

The kid was instantly moving his mouth over the foaming stream, catching the droplets in his mouth. He followed it up, sucking the stickiness off their fingers before finding the opening again. He tugged at the can, until Dave tilted it enough to dribble some into his mouth. 

He fed it to him slowly, not sure how much more soda was left in the cabinets, or whether the well out back still worked. When the can was empty, the kid's swollen tongue pressed into the hole, feeling around for every last drop. When he tried to take it away this time, enough of the kid's strength returned to fight him a little. "All gone." 

The kid whined. His hazy brown eyes blinked unseeing at him for a few seconds. He licked across his chapped lips, playing at the corner to catch some of the stickiness remaining there. Then he let his hands fall away from the can so he could suck off the last bits of soda remaining on them. 

Dave meant to say something, to make some sort of gesture, but the kid reached out quick and grabbed his hand. A few fingers found their way into the kid's mouth, and he licked and sucked the residue off. It sent a shock of pleasure down Dave's spine, gripping him by the balls as it pointed out just how nice that tight little wet mouth felt. Just how long it had been since he'd felt one. Dave watched as the pink tongue tipped out again and again, searching out the little bits of nacho cheese that still stuck to his fingers. When the kid started using his teeth, Dave decided he'd had enough. 

"Hey, hey, hey, you're not dead yet. I've got some chips over here that are much more tasty." He yanked his hand away. When he snagged the bag and put it in the kid's lap, the kid practically shoved his head inside to get a few pieces. 

"Yeah, you're welcome," Dave muttered, backing away towards the recliner to put some distance between them. He adjusted himself with his cleaner hand, wiping the remaining spit and soda onto the upholstery with his other as he watched the kid devour the chips that survived the trip to his mouth. 

"I'm Dave, by the way." 

The boy grunted, glancing up at him with orange all over his face before returning to his feast. He shoveled too many chips in his mouth, making a bigger mess as he chewed. 

"Should I just call you Tarzan?"

"Randall," came out the rough, squeaky unused voice. He ran his tongue over his lips, cleaning away crumbs as he chewed and carefully swallowed. He sank back into the couch, shoving a finger in his mouth to suck off the salty cheese. His eyes closed as he hummed, sleepily sucking in more fingers to get every last bit.

Dave rubbed a hand over his crotch, watching. "Pleasure to meet you."

**************

Randall moved in and out of sleep. He was more comfortable than he'd been in... forever. He'd open his eyes to daylight, quiet, a pleasant burn in his stomach as he burped grape-Doritos. Then he'd be in darkness again, fingers scraping wood, nothing to see but the freaky remembered horror of his mother's face. 

Opening his eyes, it was light, quiet. A stranger was standing over him with a glass of water. Randall whimpered as he watched the light sparkle through the glass. 

"You awake? Good. Anything I need to know about this water before I take a sip?" He jiggled the glass above him, causing a loose drop to slide off the bottom. It landed on his cheek, cool and soft. 

Randall jerked up, licking at the drop as he reached for the glass. Dave pulled it out of his reach.

"Answer the question, first."

"It's... It's jus' water." The words were slurry coming from his mouth, but he didn't take his eyes off the glass. 

Dave tipped the glass in a salute, then took a mouthful. He grimaced as he swallowed. "Tastes like sulfur." He took another sip before passing it into Randall's shaking hands. "Beggars can't be choosey, I guess."

Randall gulped it down, sad to find it gone. He kept it tipped over his mouth, catching every last sweet drop. 

"Feel better?" 

Randall nodded, finally relinquishing the glass. He felt stronger, like he could stand. The light was hazy and orange; he must have been asleep for a few hours. 

"Randall, my friend Tony and I are going to be staying here for a little while." He tilted his head, his tone soft and reasonable. "Is that all right? You still look pretty rough, and we wouldn't want anything bad happening to you."

Randall nodded, swallowing down the fear that clenched his throat at the thought of being alone again, alone and trapped in the dark, starving, thirsty... "Stay. Please stay. We--I got lots of room."

Dave dipped his head. "Thank you, Randall." He looked around, eyes scanning the driveway leading to the wooded road. "You, ah, seen many deadheads around here?" 

Randall's eyes roamed the room quickly, remembering the scratching noise. He jumped a little when Dave squeezed his shoulder. 

"Shhh, I took care of that one. I'm asking how safe this area is."

"I don't know. I was down there," he tilted his head towards the kitchen, "since..." He didn't know how long he'd been down there. How long since the madness began. 

Dave squeezed his shoulder. "Well, we didn't see any out there, but we should move upstairs just in case. The windows are too big down here. It's not safe. You got a bedroom?"

Randall was wobbly on his feet, but the water had helped clear his head a little more. He led Dave up the stairs, grateful for the hand steadying his back. He flinched away when the floorboards creaked and a figure stepped out of his mom's room, but Dave pushed him along. 

"Your watch, Tone."

"Leave anything for me?"

"Later, Tony."

"Hey kid, best sleep I've had in weeks." Tony adjusted the rifle as he pressed himself to the wall, letting Randall slide by him in the narrow hallway. He smiled down at him as he passed. It wasn't a very pleasant smile. "Looking forward to breakfast."

"Say goodnight, Randall."

"Night," Randall responded quietly, shuffling off towards the smaller room at the end of the hall. He just wanted to get to the familiar safety of his room. The heavy darkness of the upper floor disturbed him. He felt almost like a child, wanting to hide under a blanket to escape the monsters in the dark. The stairs creaked as Tony moved downstairs. 

A small kerosene lantern decorated by delicate painted roses sat on the dresser, illuminating the small room in a yellow light. He recognized it as one from the set in his mom's room. The dresser, his netbook, the twin bed--the room was as he had left it, just with extra blankets over the windows and a dirty bag near the foot of the bed. 

Dave quietly closed the door behind them, casually pulling a large gun from the back of his pants to place it near the lantern. "Don't want the light to attract any lamebrains." 

Randall nodded, feeling his legs about give out as he stumbled towards the bed. He sat on the edge heavily. Dave moved to the bag on the floor, pulling out another can of soda. 

"My friend and I, we're living in our car. Barely room to move, no privacy, no way to hide when the lamebrains catch sight of you. You don't know what it's like. You sleep with one eye open. If you sleep." He sat on the bed next to Randall, crowding against him without really seeming to notice it. "Most towns are completely overrun. Yours was the first house we've seen in a while not broken into. You're lucky."

Dave cracked open the soda, filling the tight air with a strong fruity scent. "If we hadn't come along..." Dave took a long swallow. Randall watched the movement of his throat, feeling the gnawing thirst scrabbling at the back of his tongue. He was barely aware of leaning into Dave. "I think you owe us a little something." 

The rough rasp of a grape-scented tongue swiped across Randall's chapped lips, starling him. He pulled back, but Dave followed him, pressing his mouth against his as one arm grabbed the back of his head. Teeth flashed against his aching lips, drawing blood from the thin, dry skin. 

Randall pulled away, pressing against Dave's chest as he flung himself back. "I ain't no queer!" he squealed, wiping his mouth with his hand. 

Dave growled low in his throat. He set the soda on the dresser with a slow stretch of his arm, then he burst into movement. Randall found himself pressed into the mattress, arms tangled and held tight, with a gun barrel staring him in the eye. 

"Now, Randall, that wasn't nice. I don't think you understand the situation. The world's gone to hell. The dead are eating the living. Queer don't exist anymore. You're either a survivor, or you're dead meat. I'm being a nice guy here. My friend and I, we saved your scrawny ass. We're just looking for a little gratitude." 

Randall couldn't stop staring into that black hole facing him, the darkness of the gun's barrel floating above his eye. He could hardly see the dim light of mom's pretty lantern around him. Just the unending dark. 

"Now, I can leave you alone. All alone. But you won't last too long without someone watching your back. Or I could be merciful," Randall flinched at the click of the safety,"and put you down right here, right now." 

Another click, and the gun disappeared from his sight. Dave loomed large over him, dark hair outlined by the light. "Or, you can show us a little gratitude and maybe, if you're real good, we take you with us." 

Dave adjusted his weight on top of Randall, pressing against him with a near-painful intent. He wiggled his hips, and rubbed heavily against Randall's crotch. "You gonna be good, Randall?"

Randall closed his eyes a moment, as a roach scampered across the floor, sharp legs scraping wood. He opened his eyes, then stretched his neck to press a clumsy kiss against Dave's mouth. 

Dave smiled down at him. "Good." Dave slowly got up, letting Randall's arms free. "Now get undressed."

God, he didn't want to. 

Dave settled at the end of the bed, his eyes heavy-lidded as he leaned against the wall. He casually settled his gun hand in his lap, the sharp metal a contrast to the curving lump in his dirty jeans. He started softly singing, "I've got an attitude of gratitude..." 

Randall pushed himself up, sitting slowly on the edge of the bed. He tugged at his t-shirt, stiff with sweat and grime. He pulled it over his head, tossing it away towards the corner. His mom had just finished the laundry before... He swallowed, feeling sick as he fingered the button at his fly, trying not to think about anything, not the past, not the future, certainly not what was happening. 

"I'm grateful for the life I'm living," Dave sang, sounding pointedly impatient. "Who knows how long I have to live it?"

Randall stood, his legs wobblier than before. The jeans were loose, easy to slip down once he released the fly. They pooled around his sneakers. He blushed at his lack of briefs--they were sacrificed early in his time in the cellar, along with his socks in an attempt to be clean when he couldn't hold it in anymore. His bare skin was dark with filth and dirt. He sat down again, kicking the stiff fabric and his shoes off his feet. 

Dave gave a low whistle. "You look like you're gonna pass out. Again. You should lie down." His voice was so smooth, so reasonable. Randall curled on his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He tucked his toes into the blanket, trying not to touch the other man at all. 

A warm hand wrapped around his ankle, a thumb rubbed circles on his skin. "I could plant radishes in this dirt, Randall. But I guess none of us are smelling too sweet at the moment." The warm touch traveled up his calf, over his knee, chasing goosebumps. "Roll over. On your back." Pressure on his knee, pulling his leg up as he twisted on the bed. Dave didn't let go, settling his knees wide apart once he rested on his back. 

Randall jumped at the noise of something knocking against the lamp. He didn't want to see, didn't really want to know. Shadows danced on the wall. Hands moved his arms to his side. Weight pressed painfully against his balls. Dry lips nuzzled into his neck. 

"Shhhh, don't scream. Nothing much tonight. I just want to get off and get some sleep."

The bed scooted on the floor, legs scraping wood. Heavy body, hands, wet mouth, breaths against skin, steady pressure on his belly and teeth, oh, teeth biting and the bed scrapes and moves. 

He's got a clean shirt in his dresser. Mom just did the laundry. Groceries to put away. Fever and screaming. Something was scratching. And scratching.

*******

Dave shuddered as he came across the kid's smooth stomach. A roof over his head, walls around him, food in his belly and a warm body to go with a soft bed. If the world's gone to hell, then he'd found a little slice of heaven. 

He sucked another deep bruise on Randall's shoulder, tasting skin under the grime. Dave couldn't get enough of his neck and shoulder, like they cried out to be marked. Slender and long. He couldn't wait to see the muscles stretched taut as the kid was fucked properly. Maybe he'd let Tony break him in, make the kid appreciate Dave's gentler touch. Fuck, those big brown eyes wide and begging as that fat pig rutted into him... It was a picture so pretty he contemplated getting Tone's attention. 

But someone needed to be on watch. They didn't know how safe this area was. No deadheads yet, but that could change in a moment. Plus, he wanted to enjoy a little sleep for once. 

Randall finally stopped shaking, and Dave let go of the skin he'd been abusing. Looking up, the kid was asleep. He needed it. Dave wanted to feed him his cock for breakfast, maybe make him lick off some of that grape crap while he sucks him off. 

He rolled onto his side, pulling the limp boy against his chest. If it stayed quiet, they might shack up here for a while. Food, water, beds, recreation... A little bit of heaven, indeed.


End file.
